They walked on in silence for a few moments. They were walking slowly, and they presently heard the footsteps of Karl Steinmetz and the servant close behind them.
“I wonder,” said Catrina, half to herself, “whether she loves you?”
It was a question, but not one that a man can answer. Paul said nothing, but walked gravely on by the side of this woman, who knew that even if Etta Sydney Bamborough should try she could never love him as she herself did.
When Karl Steinmetz joined them they were silent.
“I suppose,” he said in English, “that we may rely upon the discretion of the Fra|lein Catrina?”
“Yes,” answered the girl; “you may, so far as Osterno is concerned. But I would rather that you did not visit our people here. It is too dangerous in several ways.”
“Ah!” murmured Steinmetz, respectfully acquiescent. He was looking straight in front of him, with an expression of countenance which was almost dense. “Then we must bow to your decision,” he went on, turning toward the tall man striding along at his side.
“Yes,” said Paul simply.
Steinmetz smiled grimly to himself. It was one of his half-cynical theories that women hold the casting vote in all earthly matters, and when an illustration such as this came to prove the correctness of his deductions, he only smiled. He was not by nature a cynic—only by the force of circumstances.
“Will you come to the castle?” asked the girl at length, and Steinmetz by a gesture deferred the decision to Paul.